Not-So-Little Red

Not-So-Little+Red

About the Author: Jordan Simon (Creative Writing, Class of 2019) is at home in the realm of ink and paper. He typically writes short stories of varying genres, though his most preferred is horror. Capable in poetry and comfortable with anything relating to fiction, he is a well-rounded writer with a bit of a soft spot for the dramatic. He hopes to use his degree to further himself in the journalism field, where he hopes to write articles and art pieces for a newspaper or magazine one day.

 

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Red
by Jordan Simon

 

I sighed, exasperated as mom bustled about, frantically over what I, myself, thought pointless. She ran back and forth, filling a basket, last-minute, for a trip that had been planned for the better part of the week. This was a routine, it seemed; we always seemed to get stuck on some miniscule, last-minute detail that had us clamoring to reset our tense schedule. In the past, I’d have been right alongside her, pacing about and clamoring to set things straight. But this was the present, and I wasn’t exactly the same starry-eyed little girl that I used to be. I’d grown up, I’d say. For better or for worse, I really couldn’t say. Regardless, I was different now: bigger, smarter, and perhaps a touch more cynical about the works of the world.

I digress; she was finished.

Mother handed me a sizeable straw basket, neatly braided with all of the love and care that only a mother could exert. I scoffed, inwardly, wondering if Grandma, in her old age, would even notice the gesture. I doubted it; after all, she still failed to acknowledge the meaning behind these frequent visits. The reason why such a loving mother, on a regular basis, would send her child to brave the dangers of the woods and bring her a thrice-damned basket of snacks.

Bitter I may be, but I understand — at least I think I do. No one will ever love Grandma like mother does.

I sigh once more, holding the gift and testing its weight. Just like always, approximately nine pounds. Mother was a bit anal about the little details, and whether she knew it or not, the weight of her baskets had never been more or less than what they were now. Not in all of the years that I’d been doing this.

I was startled out of my thoughts by her voice.

“Now you remember what I told you, right?” She asked, worriedly. It was a small, inconsequential gesture, since she’d send me out, regardless. But I tried my best to appreciate it, and gave her my best smile.

“Yeah, mama,” I said and offered her a thumbs up before repeating what she had told me many times before. “‘Go straight to Grandma’s house. Don’t dawdle along the way and please don’t talk to strangers! The woods are dangerous.’”

She smiled at the gesture, rubbing my head and kissing my cheek. “Good girl,” she nodded, grabbing the hem of my hood with both hands and raising it over my head. “Be safe.”

I nodded back, kissing her cheek in return and stepping over the threshold of our doorway. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

And with that, I set out
Into the deep, dark, horribly dangerous woods and onto the winding, dirt path that led to my Grandma’s home.

The trip isn’t a long one, but it isn’t particularly short, either. It was just enough so as to not be exhausting, but certainly long enough that a petite girl like myself could experience some horrifically brutal death if not careful. Despite the morbid thought, I felt no fear; I’d been on this path so many times that it was just a routine, at this point. So even despite the many dangers I could’ve faced, I casually continued on my course.

I kept my eyes sharp for any signs of danger. I hadn’t lasted this long by being foolish. So I was very much unsurprised when a wolf, taller than me, hunched, stalked up from the cover of the woods.

I lazily regarded the creature as it sauntered up to me, sidling up to my side, not unlike an old friend. “I was wondering when you would show up,” its deep, growling voice washed over me as it spoke. I glanced in its direction, but opted to say nothing. “Giving me the silent treatment today?” I stared straight ahead, once more deciding not to grace the creature with a response. “Come on, you’re not still mad about the last time, right?” I twitched. That annoying pest. It noticed, and laughed, a loud, booming laugh that scared away countless birds. “Give me a break! I was hungry!” I raised an eyebrow at its shameless excuse.

“You tried to eat me,” I finally said.

The wolf made an attempt at shrugging.

“That’s not fair; I always try to eat you.”

I laughed inwardly at the statement. The wolf was an interesting companion. One who I never showed my back to or gave any ground. While pleasant, for the most part, it had a very unsightly habit of trying to find cunning ways to trick and devour me. As a child, I’d been forced to endure many of its cruel and downright sadistic games. ‘Hide and Eat’ had been its favorite. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I’d been naught but a scared little girl trying to make my mother happy. So I’d knowingly and willingly endured its torment bi-weekly, throwing my life on the line… over a freaking basket.

The thing about the wolf, though, is that he gets it. In his own weird way, despite his threatening nature and the very real danger of being eaten by the beast, the wolf was the one person who understood me, most.

My one true friend.

Yet, that didn’t mean I was safe around him. He was still a jerk and tried to eat me, regularly.

Even now, I could see him inching closer, jaws parted as he tried to ‘discreetly’ have a go at me. I slammed my fist down on his nose and he whimpered and backed off. “Not nice,” he whined.

I rolled my eyes. “One of these days, I just might actually kill you,” I spoke with an air of casualty, and he laughed, despite the very real nature of the not-so-subtle threat. “Not if I kill you first,”

I scoffed at that.

Staring off, I took in the dark scenery of the woods. It was a beautiful sight. Though, I acknowledged that it was a bit of a subjective beauty: the deep, purple skies; the twisted limbs of trees that had definitely seen better days; most of all though were the sounds: the kind of ominous, spooky-yet-subtle noises that told you that you were being watched. That you were not safe.

This was the environment that I had grown up in; this was what I found beautiful.

“Red,” the wolf nudged me, grabbing my attention. “We’re here.”

I nodded, stepping up to the dusty-old-door of my Grandmother’s dusty-old-house and I knocked three times, pausing between the second and third to avoid the wolf’s teeth.

“Come in, dear.” Grandma spoke, faintly, from within the house. I paid it no mind and opened the door harshly, impacting with the wolf’s head as I let myself in. He grumbled at the act, but did nothing else, and the door swung itself shut behind me.

“Alright… I’ll just stay out here then,” It mumbled, from the other side. I paid it no mind as I removed my shoes and moved inward to greet my grandma.

I found her in her room, lying in her bed — she did that a lot, these days. I opted to say nothing, choosing only to instead raise the basket and grace her with a hollow smile. She smiled in return and clapped happily. “Oh goody! Did you bring something for me, honey?” she gestured me to come over.

“As always,” I drawled, placing the basket on her nightstand and approaching to hug her. I helped her out of the bed and led her to her kitchen, basket-in-hand.

I allowed myself to zone out as she babbled on about various things that I held little interest in. But it wouldn’t kill me to be polite, so I at least pretended to listen. I was well-versed in this, what with having actual years of experience and so I was able to brave her endless chatter without issue. As she excitedly inspected the basket’s contents, I smartly checked on the window, and sure enough, the wolf was there, trying to find a way in. I had to give him credit: he had apparently managed to pick the lock and was slowly and stealthily easing it open. Just as it opened enough to fit through, I grabbed one of Grandma’s many knives and expertly threw it at him. He squeaked and retreated to safety, and I casually closed and bolted the window shut, once more securing my oblivious grandmother’s safety.

Funny how she never noticed the things we did for her. I supposed I couldn’t blame her too much.

She’d been old as long as I’d been alive.

An hour passed by quickly enough, and I left her home about nine pounds lighter. Grandma had cut me a slice of butterscotch pie for the way back, and so I took it upon myself to enjoy it. When the wolf bounded up and leapt toward me, whether in greeting or with malice, I took great pleasure in kicking him into the dirt, earning a groan of pain.

It was a good day

We slowly made our way back to my home, my companion complaining, good naturedly, at my earlier act of violence. I let him complain, contently. The night had taken hold and the woods had grown deathly quiet. I let his gravelly voice fill the void of silence as we traveled. Nearing the edge of the forest and not far from home, I turned abruptly to face him and grabbed hold of his oncoming muzzle to slam it shut. I was much stronger than I looked. He laughed, even as he was essentially manhandled by a teenage girl, half his size, and forced into a sitting position.

“Always a pleasure, Red,” he grinned, mockingly. I smiled back at him for the first time that day, setting down the remains of butterscotch pie for my friend to enjoy before I turned away.

“Same time next week?” I called out, looking back as I walked over to my home. He’d already eaten what was left, and was slinking away.

“Whatever…”

He would be there.

 

Copyright © Jordan Simon (2016) All Rights Reserved.